Read Online Hungry Woman in Paris by Josefina López - Free Book Online

rules and filling out their paperwork. I sat down at the front and looked at all the
     incoming students. The roster had the names of the fourteen students taking the course and their countries of origin: Holland,
     Brazil, Korea, Hong Kong, Mexico, Portugal, and of course the United States.
    I opened my book and saw there were over ninety recipes. Each lesson was one appetizer or salad, a main dish, and a dessert.
     All the names of the dishes were in French, but also translated into English. As I went through the recipes I heard Armando
     telling me he was happy with the menu for our wedding reception. I had told him it wasn’t so exotic and interesting. He’d
     begged me to tame my choices for the sake of his family. I’d gotten him to admit that his mother thought I was too wild to
     make a good mother. We were opposites and that was great for a while, but after we argued over the menu I knew it was over.
     Armando was a MAP, a Mexican-American Prince—educated, accomplished, polished, cultured, and loved his mother; but that was
     the problem. He was a trophy husband, and I needed something meatier. He looked good on the menu, but he wasn’t a dish I wanted
     to order for life. Yeah, it was the menu. His culinary choices were limited to beef and potatoes and I needed something colorful
     and delicious. I desired one marriage and he wanted another. After the argument I began to go through the motions of a relationship,
     but eventually I just had to be the courageous one to put a stop to the whole thing. My mother thought it was her fault that
     I wasn’t married; she complained to me about my father too much and knew she ruined my picture of men for the rest of my life.
     That’s partly true, though if I were a man and afraid of commitment, nobody would hassle me about it. But because I have a
     vagina and healthy eggs, I was constantly put on the fryer for all my choices about the men I dated.
    Sélange walked in, along with all the female administrative staff, and welcomed us once again. All the women introduced themselves,
     including the receptionist, who introduced herself as Françoise, at our service. The fifty-something students from mostly
     First World countries, or from rich families of poor countries, applauded. Finally the head chef of the school introduced
     himself as Renault Sauber, a white-haired Robin Williams without all the body hair. He welcomed us in every language he knew
     and told us that although there was a lot of work ahead we would have fun; he would make sure of it.
    Sélange reminded us that it was now time to sign the agreement to the rules and to hand them to her when we were done. There
     was to be no smoking out in front of the school or lounging around and sitting on cars. There was to be no saving seats and
     no walking around with knives pointed during cooking sessions. A student could have no more than four absences in order to
     receive a diploma, and we were required to wear special shoes with metal tips, in case we dropped a knife on our toes, plus
     a complete uniform; otherwise we would not be allowed to enter the kitchen—or, as we would call it from now on, the practical
     room. I signed the agreement and for a second my heart jumped out and said, What the hell are you doing in a kitchen? Get
     out! I handed in my agreement and there was no turning back. Seconds later the schedules were handed out and it was explained
     to us how the color coding worked: Basic Cuisine was red and we had three classes a day, amounting to nine hours every day.
     Saturdays would only be two classes, a demonstration followed by a practical. A practical class was the opportunity to experiment,
     mess up, and get advice or get yelled at by the chefs.
    Françoise passed out a flyer announcing the “Get to know your classmates” gathering Friday night at an English pub. Someone
     complained that they wouldn’t go because they were in Group B and had a Saturday morning class at eight-thirty